In the Hands of the WICKED
by even your tears were so pretty
Summary: In her slim, white fingers, she twirled a tiny slip of paper over and over again as if it were the only thing keeping her alive. On it were scribbled the words: "If you want to keep her alive, give her the drug. She WILL die without it." Who knew that once again, the Gladers were just playing into the hands of the WICKED?


**Disclaimer:** My name isn't James.

* * *

 _"The course of true love never did run smooth."_

 _-Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream_

There was a horrible grinding sound of metal against metal, as if the walls were crying out in pain. Hand-in-hand with that sound was the smell of rust- the kind of rust that came from years of being used over and over again. But other than that, Teagan could deem nothing of the rather despicable predicament she was in.

Well, that wasn't exactly true.

In her slim fingers, she folded and unfolded a tiny slip of paper as if it was the only thing keeping her alive. To be honest, she really did think that she might've lost her sanity had she not found the note, hidden in the shadows of the corner of the box-like thing that she was in. She'd read it at least ten times, trying to make something of it, when she'd found a pile of packets, conviently organized, holding, from what she could see, silver powder.

Now, she smoothed out the wrinkled paper on the cold floor again, although she doubted that she would figure out anything more than last time. However, with nothing better to do, she skimmed over the messily scribbled words:

 _If you want to keep her alive, give her the drug._

 _She WILL die without it._

The first time Teagan had read the note, she had been... unerved, at best. It had raised even more questions than she'd previously had. She'd gazed around the room she was in, wondering if she'd somehow missed another body- but no. She was utterly alone, and the note refered to a _she._ Not 'you.' She.

This observation had changed her theory about where she was. Before, she'd thought that she wasn't going anywhere at all; that she would be stuck in this box until she died of starvation. But now, she thought, maybe she was _going_ somewhere. Although, it did seem as if hours had passed since she'd first waken up- but her sense of time was unreliable. Every second felt slower, every minute like a lifetime.

She pushed herself against the wall, feeling the metal through her thin clothes. Maybe, she thought drowsily, if she really was stuck in this box for a lifetime and didn't die of starvation, she would die of cold. Or loneliness. Both seemed like a dreadful way to go.

Teagan had thought about death when she'd first woken up- among other questions. She knew her name, and that, if not much, was assuring; but as she had reached for something more, she'd found that nothing came to mind. She'd searched for memories, for fragments of her past, but there was nothing. Nothing at all.

So she had been stuck in a box, confused and helpless, and she wondered if there was a way to kill yourself with nothing. Not from hunger or anything like that; to make it quick and easy, so that she wouldn't have to endure another second of this madness. But that was a coward's play, and if anything, Teagan was headstrong and stubborn and refused to give in that easily.

Although, she was tempted.

She closed her eyes. Her head pounded, filled with unpleasant thoughts, and more than anything, she wanted to go back to sleep. For sleep was before it all started; sleep could give her a welcome, if only temporary, break from the cruel world that she could seemingly not escape.

Before she knew it, she had curled up into a ball, some of the packets held loosely in her hand. Everything stopped, and she fell into an endless void of darkness.

* * *

The alarm rang loudly through the Glade, although, Newt thought with some satisfaction, all it did was start up a few murmurs as the boys gathered around the Box. He ran a hand through his touseled hair, feeling exhaustion weighing down his bones as the Box pulled to a screeching stop.

He reached for the handle of the door and pulled it open with a small groan. Then, rubbing at his eyes, he gazed around the Box, looking for a body. Greenies always tended to hide, and Newt didn't blame them.

He caught the dark silouhette of a body curled up in the corner and sighed, jumping down next to it. But there was something off about it- as he neared the small figure, he realized that there had been a mistake.

The person in the Box was unmistakibly a girl.

* * *

Teagan had been awakened by the sunlight filling the room- after what seemed like such a long time in the dark, the light was unfamiliar and hurt her eyes. Blinking, she tried to adjust, when she noticed a shadow looming over her.

Suddenly, her senses sharpened and she jumped to her feet, reaching behind her for the packets and the note. Her gray-green eyes darted from left to right, taking in the sight in front of her- a boy, who, to be honest, looked as if he was going to throw up- and behind him, a grassy glade filled with other teenage boys wearing similar confused expressions. When she spoke, her voice was raspy and hoarse:

"Who are you? Why am I here?"

There was a moment's silence before the blonde-haired boy in front of her stepped forward cautiously, as if she were a dangerous dog that needed to be contained. Teagan clutched the packet and the note tighter in her hands as he softly asked, "What is that?"

She pressed herself against the wall, having a mental debate in her head. Clearly, she'd been sent here for a reason with a note meant for someone else to read; but she wasn't sure whether or not to trust these boys that she'd never met in her life.

With a sigh, she unclenched her hands and dropped her items on the floor.

* * *

It had been a rather uneventful day.

Minho shook his head as he jogged out of the Maze and into the Mapping Room, although there was almost nothing to record. He had noticed a pattern over the past few weeks that he'd been here, and that pattern never changed; it was like trying to stop a music box from playing the same song when it was rigged to do so. The entire Maze was rigged- that was why they hadn't found a way out yet. Minho was sure of it.

 _Or maybe,_ said the small, nagging voice in the back of his head, _that's just what you want._

Minho pushed it away impatiently. He had no time for dealing with tiny, annoying things like that- there were bigger things to worry about. He closed the door behind him and reached for the pencil resting on the table, the point dulled. Newt, no doubt, would introduce him to the new Greenie; then, they'd have to be put through tests, Minho evaluating all of them, and, if the small chance that he would be a Runner prevailed, Minho would have to train him.

Despite the fact that he'd done this every single month since he arrived in the Glade- he'd been one of the first ones, in fact- he was getting tired of the routine. He was tired of dealing with Greenies too cowardly and scared to survive, even though it wasn't their fault- well, to a certain degree. He, for one, had never acted like that, had always wanted to be the one to go out into the Maze and find a way out, but maybe that was just being cocky.

There were shouts outside- Gladers getting ready to sleep, Minho presumed. But mixed in with usual exhausted shouts was fear and confusion, and that was something new.

He put down the pencil as someone knocked on the door. Newt, he knew. However, before he could even take a step towards the door, it had opened, and Brit stepped inside, his face dead serious.

Minho groaned. "What's wrong now, shank?" He asked, half-teasingly and half-resignedly. "Frypan burned the muffins again?"

A small smile played on Newt's lips as he leaned against the doorway. "Something a little more serious- sadly. It's about the Greenie-"

Minho put his head in his hands. "I swear, Newt, _shuck_ those Greenies-"

"It's different this time." Newt's tone was gentle, as always. Sometimes, Minho wanted to strangle him for it- his ability to always be calm. He wasn't sure why- maybe he just wanted it for himself.

"How?"

"See for yourself."

Minho hesitated, biting his lip. Newt, noticing this- _of course he would,_ Minho thought- softened his expression. "You know you don't have to go if you don't want to, mate."

The other boy gave him a half-smile that his heart wasn't in. "No, I'm ready." He sighed. "Let's go."

* * *

Ava Paige's heels clicked loudly on the polished marble floors as she swiftly walked down the halls, a folder overflowing with papers in her hand. A blue pen kept her white curls in a tight bun, although she hadn't taken as much time as she usually did to get it perfect; not today. Today was when everything changed, when they would finally make a scientific breakthrough with the boys of the Maze.

They had sent up the Variable.

She stepped inside a pristine, white room, where Janson was already waiting for her. "Morning," he greeted, but Ava paid no attention to him.

"Was it successful? Has she been sent up into the Maze?"

Janson smirked. "Yes, ma'am. She-"

"Good." Ava cut him off and pushed past him to get to the computer, setting down her folder. "Has she taken the drug yet?"

"No."

Ava grit her teeth. "She _needs_ to take that drug. If she does not, our entire experiment could be in danger."

Recently, WICKED's scientists had created a drug that would allow them to manipulate a Subject's thoughts. It would also allow them to _see_ into those person's thoughts; therefore, they had a new variable that would hopefully give them different, better results. It was as if they had their own robot to use.

Which could've been easily accomplished- in fact, Ava had suggested it first, but to her surprise, Janson had commented that the boys were rather smart and would use the robot for their own purposes, just as they had for the beetle blades.

So they had went with the next best thing.

 _Now,_ Ava thought worriedly, her fingers gliding over the keyboard, _we just have to see if it works._


End file.
